


Starved

by jennandblitz



Series: Just a Jeepster for Your Love [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Azkaban!Remus, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Emotional Baggage, Hopeful Ending, M/M, POV Sirius Black, Prisoner of Azkaban AU, Professor!Sirius, Recovery, inspired by rp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 00:51:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19188568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandblitz/pseuds/jennandblitz
Summary: Remus was sent to Azkaban in 1981. Now, after the events of the Prisoner of Azkaban in 1993, Remus is with Sirius at Grimmauld Place, and maybe, just maybe, they can start to recover.





	Starved

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TTBret](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TTBret/gifts).



> Inspired by this _[masterpiece of a thread](https://sirussly.tumblr.com/post/184262453570/starved)_ by sirussly and asktheboywholived, set in their world where Remus went to Azkaban instead of Sirius. I take zeeerrro credit for the world, and wrote this simply as a continuation of their thread because I was so blown away by the emotions within those gifs.

It was hard to remember time had passed at all.

If Sirius thought hard enough, he could imagine them on the sofa in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room, friends whirling around them in some well-orchestrated Gobstones tournament. Remus would chuckle softly into the pages of his book at a particularly well placed spurt of pus from a Gobstone and Sirius would snigger and say _better luck next time, McKinnon_.

Peter would be winning. James would be providing flawless match commentary.

But no—Sirius huffed a sigh—they were alone.

The wireless was on, humming away in the parlour of Grimmauld Place, just to try and fill the air somehow. It was still light out, but the light didn’t seem to reach in through the windows, because the room still felt dark and cold and lonely. Grimmauld Place felt dingy no matter how many times Sirius transfigured the paint on the walls, or how many cleaning charms he flung at the windows. The oppressive, cloying air of the Noble and Most Ancient House still permeated everything, like the portrait of his sodding mother in the hallway, mercifully quiet thanks to the extra-strength Sticking Charm on the curtains.

Sirius couldn’t tell if it was better or worse with Remus here.

Azkaban hadn’t been kind to Moony. Azkaban was incapable of being kind to anyone, but the man—the _boy_ —Sirius knew was no longer there. He had changed. But then, Sirius had changed too. It had all changed them both and yet they were still here, together, Sirius’ arm thrown over Remus’ shoulder, one hand pressed to his sternum, the other with fingertips filtering through the newly shorn ends of Remus’ hair. He felt so bloody thin. Remus had always been slight - werewolf metabolism had seen to that - but now he was near skeletal.

_It should’ve been me_ , Sirius thought for the thousandth time. _I should’ve been Secret Keeper, I should’ve kept you all safe. James, Lily, Harry, Regulus, you, all of you_.

But what was done was done. He had Harry to love and keep safe now. And he had Remus back. He had twelve years to make up for, twelve years of the world being stagnant and stilted and _wrong_ to catch up on.

“Still you,” Sirius murmured, echoing the last thing he had said, what felt like hours ago. Maybe it had been hours, maybe they had stayed for hours, wrapped in each other, crying over the last twelve years and letting open wounds gradually stitch together in the company of someone who knew _just_ what grief felt like.

A ghost of a smile flickered over Remus’ face in the wan early-evening light. For a moment Sirius’ vision swam and he saw the Remus he recognised, twenty and fighting a war and looking to Sirius for reassurance because Sirius would _never_ be anything other than sure and steadfast. Then he blinked, and Remus was back again, the pinkish silver scars that lined his face, the unnaturally wolfish amber of one eye. Tears still clung to the tops of his cheeks, glistening in tracks like moonlight over his skin. _Oh_ , how wrong Sirius had been. The distrust had been rampant back then, and Sirius was more than responsible for his fair share. How had he let it get that far?

“Yeah?” Remus’ head was tilted back against Sirius’ shoulder, slow and tender in his vulnerability, soft words bringing Sirius out of his thoughts. Remus had been unable to show his weak points for years, but now, Sirius hoped he might start to feel comfortable. When they first reunited in the Shack, Sirius thought Remus all wolf, the man in him torn away by trauma and grief and mistreatment. But here, Remus was starting to come back. Slowly. Not the same Remus Sirius remembered, but a Remus he could recognise. A Remus he knew somehow, if past and present had intertwined.

Sirius turned and pressed his mouth into Remus’ hair. Remus had always been warm, but after Azkaban, he felt cold, as if the Dementors had sucked the warmth right out of him.

_Well,_ Sirius thought, skimming one hand over Remus’ arm, _I’ll bloody well put it back_. Sirius had always been one for physicality, hands on arms, legs tangled together, kisses to the top of the head. Remus hadn’t, back then. But now, he sank into them, starved for touch, for affection, for Sirius.

“Yeah. Still you, Moons.” Sirius sighed into Remus’ hair, tipping his chin to press another lingering kiss to his forehead, heedless of the scars beneath his lips.

Remus smiled, the last moment of tension shivering out of his spine. He lifted his hand to press against Sirius’ chest. “Still you, Padfoot.”

The world had carried on for twelve years.

The Marauders hadn’t.


End file.
